Ficlets in Time
by Thatdammarauder
Summary: Title says it all. Fluff, angst, who knows what else—a recording of life in the HP universe.


Composed

 **Author's Note: HP Drabbles and fluff or angst or whatever?**

They were worried for her, that was what they told her: Narcissa Black, that Black girl who doesn't seem loyal enough to her name and to her house.

 _I thought that was a Gryffindor trait, mother,_ Narcissa yearned to say. _I thought you were happy that I was placed into this back-stabbing world instead._

But she could not. And she didn't.

She sat instead, and listened about her husband, whose name was Lucius Malfoy. She knew about him in Hogwarts, of course. He was 3 years her senior in school, so all she ever saw of him was a flash of blonde hair and a snide comment that made his friends giggle pathetically together.

But she met him, and they made it work somehow. The sex wasn't terribly bad, and all Lucius wanted out of their marriage was an heir, so through the first months of marriage, Narcissa blackmailed, cried, and manipulated. But she still managed.

And at the end, she always made sure she was composed when she nodded at their guests. She always schooled her expressions into one of the perfect housewife when she grasped Lucius' arm and they went into the various obligatory pureblood parties together.

She smiled when all she wanted to do was whip out her wand and cast a good jelly leg jinx on every single one of them.

Everything shattered when Draco came, however. Draco came as a bundle of blonde hair through the arms of a smiling mediwitch who entered him into the system of names in the Birth department of the ministry.

"Congratulations," she said, "Mr and Mrs. Malfoy, this is your son."

For the first time, Narcissa was not composed. She was crying and laughing and swearing (though wizarding birth-related technological advances were far greater than ones in the muggle world, they were not that much better off), and _she had just delivered her son, god dammit! So she better get to hold him._

But the mediwitch handed him to Lucius. Lucius, who just wanted an heir. Lucius, who did not give birth to Draco. Lucius, who took the bundle in his arms and raised it high. Above them, above the churnings of potions and the sweat of birth, above their everyday worries and worships, families and backlashes, and what seemed to be above anything else in the universe.

The sun fell on them at the same time, then. The gold of their hair and in them shined. Draco gurgled at Lucius, holding out a pudgy little hand to his face.

Though Narcissa did not think of it as important at the time, later, she recounted with perfect clarity, that Lucius Malfoy whispered, "Draco Lucius Malfoy, I love you."

Narcissa did not fall in love, no. She nearly tripped into the catastrophic puddle known as love but composed herself again just in time for the mediwitch to hand Draco into her arms.

Lucius Malfoy was someone who she could not fall in love with. So she did not.

* * *

She did.

She fell in love when they took Draco to a muggle park.

 _Oh! How precious!_ the woman squealed, _He's so cute! May I?_

As an open act of rebellion, Narcissa handed Draco to her, and the monster in her bloomed with pride at Lucius' scowl.

The woman smiled obliviously at both of them. Narcissa was just a little bit smug.

 _He looks like you,_ she pointed out at Lucius.

His face was an open look of delight. Not many people were prone to be kind to him, the V-

(Narcissa Black you insolent girl you shall never say him name in the house)

You Know Who supporter.

But Narcissa knew deep in her heart that it was not the ownership of Draco that made Lucius look like a carefree boy in Hogwarts again.

Of course _he does_ , he said to the woman without any kind of discrimination or hidden spite, _he's my son._

* * *

And through the years of marriage they ventured together.

Fights and fall outs. Family disputes and money issues.

Narcissa would think and Lucius would pace. Narcissa would comfort and Lucius would smile (genuinely) at her.

Love wore them out since Draco had grown up, love wore out, but a sense of partnership didn't. Love never lasts, after all. This was the best that they could possibly have among pureblood marriages.

On the outside, the Malfoys were cold, composed, and pureblood, Narcissa knew. Since when had the word "pure blood" begun to describe things? Negative things?

But it was a price. It was a good price in exchange of a partnership built on friendship, trust, a child, and years of composing themselves to fit inside what they were meant to be.


End file.
